My First Bike

Sibling Rivalry! Ah yes! The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat in perpetual motion!

I remember it well; not that my siblings and I ever really fought terribly or anything, we mostly got along, but there were certainly moments - and one summer in particular that stands out in my memory: it was my fourth summer on planet earth when I got my first bike.

But before I can tell the story, I must explain that I am the baby of the family. My oldest brother Jack, was 12 years older than I was (he is now with Jesus). My sister Carol is 10 years older than I am. They are actually my half siblings – we share the same dad (he also has departed this world). Then I have a brother, Paul, who is two and a half years older than I am.

Jack and Carol treated me like a doll; I could do no wrong. Oh how I loved when they came over! But Paul, well, he felt that it was his sworn duty as an only slightly older sibling, to tease, to pester, and - to take advantage of my innocence to get me into trouble! I did not like it one little bit!

No! I did not try to ride the laundry shoot to the basement like an amusement park ride! He shoved me in the shoot and pushed, then lied and said he found me playing in it when I got stuck! (I was a skinny little thing too!)

Oh, there is one more detail you need to know. Paul was born with a slight birth defect. One of his eyes does not really see anything but dark shadows, (he is legally blind in it), and there was no muscle in that eye lid (he had plastic surgery as a child to put a piece of muscle in it to make it appear normal). He was an extreme introvert. I was the strong-willed, outgoing child. (I want to state that dancing in the arms of God, that is now mostly a very positive thing!).

So I felt like my parents favored him in any kind of dispute just because they felt guilty for some genetic thing over which they had no control. And it wasn’t fair! I couldn’t help it if I came out okay!

So now to my fourth summer. My parents bought my brother a green bike with a silver banana seat and training wheels. Immediately, my beloved tricycle looked like a baby toy and I wanted a bike too! But my parents were not wealthy, (his surgery was that year) and they told me I could have a bike when I was 6 too. But I could never wait till I was 6! What on earth were they thinking! I’d be the laughing stock of the block if I had to ride that trike one more day! So I begged, and I begged.

And I begged. . . (Did I mention I begged?!).

So thinking they could daunt me, they told me if I could somehow manage to learn to ride a bike, they would feel obligated to buy me one. And so, the very next day after I heard that good news, I borrowed a bike from an older boy on my block, who was only too pleased to assist me. He showed me the ropes, then left me on my own. By the end of the day, with only one scraped knee from a fall, and having to pull some splinters from my hand after I took a header over a split rail fence, (without damaging my friends bike), I could ride a bike, and ride it pretty well.

To my parents dismay! They told me I would have to wait a month before they could afford the bike. Well, that was okay with me; I was getting a bike!

Problem was, the next month put a gigantic kink into my actually getting the bike in the time promised. That older brother of mine just could not stop pestering me, and when I was dubbed a “tattle-tale” and told by my parents that I needed to “figure out a way to get along” with him instead of always coming crying to them, I was furious! I was not the instigator of war, but now, with no recourse but to “figure out a way to get along” I determined I was going to be the final victor and thus end the war. {Parents, if you have a strong-willed, outgoing child who feels s/he is being wronged, never tell them to “figure out a way” - it likely will not turn out well, trust me!}

So, the next time he pestered me, I was going to do something about it!
I did not have to wait long…

I was in the basement riding my little horse on springs dreaming of riding with the Lone Ranger, or being a jockey (BTW, I got the real horse when I was 15 and lived ate and breathed horse for the next few years, another story for another time).Anyway…our basement was all cement – I learned to roller skate down there, and my spring horse was down there, and the laundry. The steps were narrow, open, wooden slats, and the light, was at the top of the stairs! Yes, the top!

So I was happily riding “Old Paint,” when “click” and sudden darkness engulfed the room. The two small rectangular windows that usually allowed daylight into the basement had been covered with boxes. This was a planned attack!

Immediately there appeared two “ghostly figures” at the top of the stairs. It was Paul and a friend Ron with sheets over their heads, and flashlights under the sheets shining on their faces to make them look foreboding. This was the straw that broke the camels back. I yelled that I knew who it was, and that when I found my way out of the darkness I was going to punch him in the nose!

They ran. They not only closed the door, they blocked it too. I was afraid of the dark after we watched “Dark Shadows” on tv and he teased me that a vampire or ghost would get me in the dark. I made my way up the stairs in the dark and stood crying at the door for what seemed hours before my mom let me out. Wasn’t that proof that I was innocent! I mean, I was a good kid. Where was justice in this world?!

So, after dinner, I asked him if he remembered what I told the “ghost” and before he could answer, I punched him in the nose! Left hook; dead center hit. Stunned silence in the room – but only for a moment as everyone watched his glasses sail across the room and land in two pieces on the floor. Oh no! This was not going to turn out well!

My dad stood up. Let me explain: he was 6’ 4 ¾” tall and had a deep baritone voice. He kind of looked like those wrestlers you see on TV. (Remember, I was 4). Before that moment, I had always thought of him as “Fred Flintstone” and his best friend Harold as “Barney Rubble” - [which meant I was “Pebbles”] (seriously, to this day, they remind me of them, but those are other stories). Well, fortunately for me – Barney Rubble, God bless him, was there, and he had a way of keeping “Fred’ from loosing his cool without first hearing all the facts.

So I defended my actions passionately, stating all the reasons why I had to take matters into my own hands to “figure out a way to get along” (I saw Harold snicker once or twice out of the corner of my eye. He gave me strength!). I was sent to my room, but I was not beaten, so I figured it ended better than it could have, until I was informed that the money for my new bike would go to buy my brother new glasses. For a whole day I couldn’t speak without tears filing my eyes!

It would be many weeks before I would get the bike. In the meantime, I never knew being dragged down the sidewalk could be such a good thing! I was talking to a friend down the street. Paul came and said it was time for supper. I ignored him. So he grabbed my arm and started pulling me. I lost my balance and fell. He kept right on pulling me. I was getting pretty scraped up by the sidewalk, and bleeding. My mom came to the door to see what was taking so long, and the moment she “gasped” in horror, I knew my pain was not in vain!

After she fixed all my scrapes and cuts, she went to the other room, and I heard her give him a spanking. (This was rare!) I was delighted! Justice! Then my dad came home, and he took a look at me, and despite my mom’s pleadings that she had already beaten the boy within an inch of his life, my dad gave him the second spanking of the day! I almost felt sorry for him.

Near the end of the summer, my dad took me on the awaited outing! I selected a magenta bike with a banana seat and multicolored plastic tassels hanging from the handlebars. Within a short time after that, my brother decided it was time for him to learn to ride a bike too, and by the time school started, we were riding everywhere and getting along famously as if the whole ordeal had never happened!




Where are the old bike pics when you want them?!